


Big Grand Gesture

by Biscuit Lion (cookiethelion)



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coffee, M/M, Pre-Relationship Shinwon/Hongseok, actor!Hongseok, traditional singers Shinwon and Hwitaek, trot singer!Changgu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29402226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiethelion/pseuds/Biscuit%20Lion
Summary: Hongseok was Shinwon’s fan. The first time he’d heard Shinwon’s name was when his first appearance on Immortal Songs had become a hot issue. By the time the rumours had gone around the company that Shinwon might be signing with them soon, he’d started to binge watch his past performances. It hadn’t taken long for Hongseok to reach the conclusion that Shinwon looked good wearing a hanbok; and when he’d seen a bespectacled Shinwon in the company building for the first time, Hongseok had almost had a heart attack.It simply wasn’t fair that the most gorgeous man Hongseok had ever laid his eyes on was also the coldest and most stoic person he knew.
Kudos: 13





	Big Grand Gesture

**Author's Note:**

> idk the idea of traditional singer Shinwon just popped into my head, and this ... happened.
> 
> English lyrics for [A Centennial Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EIBQ9OlVtgo) are taken from [this blog](https://korcan50years.com/2015/12/24/a-centennial-life-%EB%B0%B1%EC%84%B8%EC%9D%B8%EC%83%9D/).

The first time Hongseok had been alone in a room with Shinwon was in mid-January, one year after Shinwon had joined the agency.

Hongseok had entered the room ten minutes ago, and nine minutes and thirty seconds of that time had been spent in silence while the two men looked down at their own phones. It wasn’t like Hongseok had been impolite or anything; he’d said hello first, and Shinwon had greeted him back in that cool, calm tone he always used, without an ounce of emotion on his face as usual. That alone had been enough to put off Hongseok from trying to talk to him any further.

The door opened, and Hongseok glanced over his shoulder. He smiled when he saw Changgu enter the room, and he just about held in his sigh of relief that they weren’t alone for the whole meeting.

“Hi Shinwon hyung, Hongseok hyung,” said Changgu, as he took his earbuds out, and tucked his headphones into his pocket. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay, Changgu-ya,” said Shinwon, as he looked up. “At least you made it.”

It wasn’t surprising that Changgu and Shinwon were already on “hyung” and “-ya” terms. Changgu was friendly with everyone, no matter how warm or cold the other person was. Maybe it was because Hongseok was already in a bit of a grump with Shinwon, or because Changgu was just simply the best person to turn up at that time, but he turned to his friend and made a point of greeting him with, “Hey Jjanggu.”

Changgu laughed as he sat down next to Hongseok. “Hyung, you haven’t called me Jjanggu in ages,” he said.

“I know.”

Shinwon cleared his throat, and they turned to him.

“Now that we’re all here,” Shinwon began, “I wanted to meet you both because there’s something I’d like to do for my YouTube channel. I’d like to upload something for Seollal this year, and I have been thinking about covering A Centennial Life for a while, so … I thought, how about the three of us sing a cover together?”

Hongseok stared. His first thought was that he wasn’t meant to be here. It made sense for Shinwon—right now the hottest soriggun in the industry—to want to collaborate with Changgu—an idol-turned-trot singer—but why would he want to involve Hongseok as well? The only qualification Hongseok had was five years of training, and that had ended after he’d been cut out of the short list for Checkmate, the boyband that Changgu had debuted through. After that, Hongseok had debuted as an actor instead.

“You look like you want to say something, Hongseok-ssi,” said Shinwon.

Hongseok made eye contact with Shinwon, and he was a little taken aback by how he looked at him with genuine interest.

“Why us?” said Hongseok, after a pause.

Shinwon’s face shifted to bewilderment as he said, “We’re the three hottest guys in the agency. Of course I’d pick you two.”

Hongseok blinked. Well, at least Shinwon had a sense of humour.

“It makes sense for you and Changgu-ya to sing, but not me.” Hongseok crossed his arms. “I’m an actor.”

“I saw you singing and dancing last week.”

“I was practicing for my web drama role.”

“I know, your character’s called Kim Younggeun and he’s an idol. I like what I heard and saw, and I really think you’d fit in with us.”

Hongseok turned away when he felt Changgu put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m always telling Shinwon hyung that you’re a good singer,” said Changgu.

“I wasn’t good enough for the company, was I?” said Hongseok, as he brushed Changgu’s hand off him.

“That was years ago.” Changgu sounded unbothered; it was the result of listening to Hongseok ramble about this subject every now and then over the course of five years. “You’re so much better now.”

Hongseok sighed as he turned back to Shinwon. He could have pushed on with his argument of _I wasn’t good enough to be an idol_ , or _I’ll only hold you back_ , or even _sorry, but we don’t know each other_. What he realised, though, was that talking to them was useless. Changgu and Shinwon were as determined as each other to have him on board. He figured that the only way to make them see sense was if he botched the recording.

“Alright,” said Hongseok, as a new train of thought entered his mind, “but isn’t A Centennial Life the song about the person telling death they can’t go yet for different reasons?”

“It is,” said Changgu. Shinwon nodded at the same time.

“Are we maybe a bit … I’m the oldest here but I’m only 28. Aren’t we maybe a bit too young for the song?”

Shinwon smiled slightly, like he’d been anticipating the question. Hongseok tried to keep up eye contact with him, but he looked so cute when he smiled that it was proving to be rather difficult.

“That’s true,” said Shinwon, “but that’s like telling Lim Youngwoong that he shouldn’t have covered The Story of an Old Couple In Their 60s because he was 30 back then. I wouldn’t suggest A Centennial Life if I didn’t think we’d be able to do justice to the song.”

Hongseok had nothing to say after that. He just listened when Shinwon explained his plans to film a performance video. Changgu asked a few questions about the venue and music, but all Shinwon could do was give him a vague answer as his friend, Lee Hwitaek, was still working on it.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?” said Hongseok to Changgu, when they finished the meeting not long after.

“Sure,” said Changgu. He turned to Shinwon. “Do you want to come with us, Shinwon hyung?”

Shinwon shook his head. He had his phone in his hand again, and he appeared to be scrolling through his contacts.

“I need to talk to Hwitaek hyung,” said Shinwon. “I’ll catch up with you both later.”

Hongseok couldn’t have been in more of a hurry to leave the room. Shinwon waved them goodbye, but it was so calm and measured that he couldn’t tell whether he was genuine or just being polite. It was another thing about Shinwon that irked Hongseok.

Even though Shinwon had stayed behind in the room, Hongseok didn’t say anything about him until he and Changgu had settled down in a nearby café. It wasn’t like they were recognised all the time, but Hongseok was eager to keep their conversation away from prying ears, and so he picked a table that was tucked away in a corner.

“I really don’t get it,” Hongseok started. “Why would he pick _me_ over all the actual singers in the company?”

Changgu smiled a little. “He likes you a lot, hyung.”

“That doesn’t mean he should choose me. I’m going to look so bad next to you two.”

“Maybe he wanted you because you’re an actor? You can express the song in a different way to us.”

“I’m an _actor_ , Changgu-ya. I speak my lines. I don’t sing them.”

Changgu shrugged. “You should stop doubting yourself, hyung. You’re a really good singer. You know how much I wanted to debut with you together.”

“I know.” Hongseok sighed. “Okay, here’s another thing I don’t get about him. Why does he always talk like he’s bored?”

“He’s a very soft-spoken person.”

“There’s a difference between soft-spoken and sounding bored.” Hongseok picked up his coffee. “You’re friends with him, right? Please tell me he’s not that bad.”

Changgu sighed. “I know he can be a bit cold at times, but he’s a really kind person. He lent me his headphones one day when I couldn’t find mine and I really needed them, and then he told me to keep them when I tried to return them to him later on.”

Hongseok took a sip from his cup first before he said, “I’m sure he’s nice, but I wish he’d show it. I never know where I stand with him, and it really bugs me.”

The thing was, Hongseok was Shinwon’s fan. The first time he’d heard Shinwon’s name was when his first appearance on Immortal Songs had become a hot issue, as nobody had expected a traditional singer to be exceptional in both visuals and singing abilities. By the time the rumours had gone around the company that Shinwon might be signing with them soon, he’d started to binge watch his past performances. It hadn’t taken long for Hongseok to reach the conclusion that Shinwon looked good wearing a hanbok; and when he’d seen a bespectacled Shinwon in the company building for the first time, wearing a fluffy white sweater with the front tucked into his black jeans to reveal a studded belt, and paired with pristine white trainers and a cross-body satchel, Hongseok had almost had a heart attack.

It simply wasn’t fair that the most gorgeous man Hongseok had ever laid his eyes on was also the coldest and most stoic person he knew. Why did Shinwon have to be both things? What was wrong with being either ugly and cold, or handsome and warm?

Still, Hongseok didn’t say anything when he received a demonstration of the arrangement a few days later, and a copy of the lyrics with their parts highlighted. Here, he had to admit that the arrangement was less intimidating than what he’d been imagining, and he began to think that he could actually do an okay job with the song. It was like Shinwon had worked hard to make sure that Hongseok wouldn’t be singing anything too challenging.

“I’ve got to hand it to Shinwon,” said Hongseok to Changgu the following evening, when they were in one of the dance studios in their company building. “I think he split the parts really well.”

Changgu smiled. “He’s obviously not going to make you look like an idiot,” he said. “You’re probably going to shine more than us.”

Hongseok rolled his eyes. “As if, Changgu-ya. I’ve only got four lines in total, and we’re doing the chorus together anyway.”

“Four lines is enough to get noticed.” Changgu began to tap away on his phone. “You know I’ll always be here to help you.”

Hongseok shook his head. In the reflection of the mirror behind them, he could see Changgu draw up a list of songs that he had to practice for a variety show he was going to be shooting soon. Changgu didn’t have to dance—he could have opted to perform like a more conventional trot singer—but his instinct had been to make singing and dancing his selling point, to distinguish him from other wannabe trot singers, and he’d been right; if he hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have made it as far into Voice Trot as he did.

“You’ve got enough going on,” said Hongseok. “I won’t be another burden for you.”

“Okay.” Changgu pressed down on a song, and then hit pause before the music could be blared out through the speakers in the corner. “If you really need help, you can always find Shinwon, since he organised the project and everything.”

“I know.” Hongseok stretched his arms above his head.

“You should talk to Shinwon. I promise you, he’s not a bad person.”

“You can hit play. We haven’t got the studio for long.”

Changgu took the hint. Hongseok got into position, and waited for the music to turn on.

Hongseok wasn’t part of Changgu’s performance; he had learnt the choreography to practice dancing again, to make his role in the two-part web drama more believable. At the moment, he was in the middle of dry rehearsals with the rest of the cast, but they were going to start shooting the first scenes next Monday morning. Changgu’s variety show was due to be recorded on Saturday, meaning that the only windows they had to meet up with Shinwon next week was on the Friday and Sunday.

By the sounds of things, Shinwon wanted to record the song itself on Sunday, so when Hongseok had the chance, he squeezed in practicing the song. This usually involved recording himself singing his lines over and over whenever he returned home, and listening back to himself and working out how he could improve. He could hear Changgu’s voice in his head, telling him to talk to Shinwon if he was ever stuck; and after mulling over his options for a few days, Hongseok caved in on the Thursday, during the car ride back to the company building after rehearsals had finished. He went through his voice recorder app on his phone, and sent the most recent recording over to Shinwon.

He hadn’t been expecting a swift reply; he’d been banking on hearing nothing until he was back at the company. With that in mind, he plugged his headphones in, and he was about to listen to whatever girl group song came up first on Melon when a notification appeared on the top of his screen. He stared as he realised Shinwon had messaged him, asking if he was free to talk over the phone.

Hongseok figured he still had a good twenty or thirty minutes to go until he would be dropped off. He told Shinwon to call him, and waited for about two minutes when he heard his ringtone through his earbuds.

“Hongseok-ssi,” said Shinwon, “thanks for sending me the clip.”

“Are you sure you don’t regret asking me to take part?” said Hongseok.

Shinwon responded with a chuckle. Hongseok almost sighed out loud at the noise; it felt a bit odd that it had taken him an entire year just to hear Shinwon laugh once, but now he was left wondering just what his proper laugh sounded like, and whether it would make his heart skip in the same way.

“I really don’t,” said Shinwon, “not after I heard you singing.”

“You don’t have to flatter me, Shinwon-ssi.”

“You’ll fit in with me and Changgu-ya just fine. I would watch out how you sing both the _at age 80_ parts though…”

Hongseok listened as Shinwon helped him. As he typed in the advice on his phone, he couldn’t help but notice the sincerity in Shinwon’s voice. He could picture Shinwon listening to his clip over and over with the same amount of concentration each time, making notes and ironing out any small mistakes he could hear. The more Hongseok thought about it, the more he blushed, and he was so glad that they were speaking over the phone right now.

The car seemed to arrive at the company building all too soon; and Hongseok sighed and waited for Shinwon to hang up first before he could accept that the call was over, and that he had things to be getting on with. He found the dance studio that Changgu had managed to bag; and when his friend commented on how rosy-cheeked he was looking, Hongseok just shrugged it off.

Maybe, if Shinwon wasn’t so stoic in person, Hongseok would have been more willing to admit how happy he made him. When he met Shinwon on Friday evening to rehearse the song together, he behaved like he always did to his face. Everything he said was semi-formal and measured; there was none of that warmth that had been present during the phone call; and if Hongseok ever felt disappointed, he mentally chastised himself for expecting something to have changed.

On Sunday, at least, there were enough distractions for Hongseok. They were recording the song in a studio owned by Hwitaek, located in an area of Gangnam that Hongseok had never been to before. When he met Hwitaek for the first time, his initial impression was how different he was to Shinwon. He was all smiles with brightly dyed hair, co-ordinated clothes, and he seemed eager to make new friends.

“I’m younger than Shinwon,” was how Hwitaek introduced himself, before he grinned to reveal deep crow’s feet.

Shinwon rolled his eyes, and Hwitaek giggled and started to lean on him. Hongseok thought that Shinwon would flinch or try to push him away. Instead, Shinwon just stood still like there wasn’t somebody trying to topple him over onto the ground.

“Don’t mind him, he says that to everyone,” said Shinwon. “He did that to me when we first met as well.”

Hwitaek looked up at Shinwon. There was something about the way he was looking that caught Hongseok’s attention.

“Shinwon-ah, did you have to ruin my joke?” said Hwitaek. He slipped an arm around Shinwon’s, and he tried to lace their fingers together, only for Shinwon to wriggle himself free.

Shinwon took a step away from Hwitaek. “We should start recording,” he said. Hongseok frowned; there was something about the way he moved and talked that seemed to go beyond his usual stoicism. “I’ll go in first, hyung.”

Hongseok sat down on the sofa at the back of the studio, and he glanced at Changgu when he joined him. Hwitaek and Shinwon were busy getting ready, and Hongseok took the opportunity to whisper to Changgu, “Hwitaek seems really nice.”

“He does,” said Changgu, speaking just as quietly. “I can see why Shinwon goes on about him all the time.”

“Does he?”

Changgu started, and Hongseok wondered why he was looking shifty. It was almost like Changgu had said something he shouldn’t have.

“Yeah, that’s how close they are as friends,” said Changgu. “They’re friends.”

The thought was already in Hongseok’s head though; and he was distracted by Hwitaek as Shinwon started his first line. It was like the older man couldn’t stop smiling at him, in a way that really didn’t feel that simple as friends—and it was making Hongseok grit his teeth. He figured that someone as attractive as Shinwon would have plenty of admirers, sure, but seeing it happen in front of him was a completely different feeling. It was like something inside him was knotting tight.

At the same time, it was ludicrous. What the hell was Shinwon to him? He was just somebody signed to the same agency as him, who only ever acknowledged him with a nod of the head whenever they passed each other, and who, for some reason, decided that an actor would make a good singer next to two professionals. They had only ever spoken over the phone once, and had barely texted each other ever since they’d swapped numbers over a year ago. Okay, maybe Hongseok did have something of a crush on him, but anybody would. Anybody would fancy the hell out of someone who could turn up to the agency building one morning in a crumpled cagoule and worn-out jeans and still look like a supermodel.

“ _If, at age 90, the death angel comes to take me away_ —” Shinwon sung, and the power in his voice jolted Hongseok out of his thoughts. He looked through the window of the recording booth, where he could see Shinwon holding his phone in his left hand, and gesturing with his right like he was keeping himself on beat. “— _please tell him not to hurry, for I will go when I want_.”

“Can you sing that again?” said Hwitaek, when he’d stopped the music. He went on to say something that Hongseok didn’t quite understand, but Shinwon nodded, and the multiple takes that followed sounded even better. “I think we should do the second verse first, and then I’ll record you singing Arirang.”

Hongseok felt Changgu nudge his elbow, and he leaned in closer to his friend.

“Shinwon hyung’s so good, isn’t he?” Changgu whispered.

“He is,” said Hongseok. He added, in a half-joking tone, “I feel a bit shit compared to him now.”

“Don’t put yourself down, hyung.”

Hongseok was spared an answer when the music started again, and he looked back at Shinwon. His hand was moving again, but his eyes remained glued to the paper.

“ _If, at age 90, the death angel comes again to take me away_ —”

Hongseok’s eyes widened. Shinwon hadn’t changed his tone, but he could hear and feel his frustration as he sung.

“— _please ask him why he has come again, for I will go when I want_.” It was subtle, but Hongseok could hear the shift from frustration to defiant when Shinwon rounded off his line, and he just leaned back into the sofa and stared.

“I wasn’t joking,” said Hongseok, as he turned his head slightly to Changgu. He couldn’t take his eyes off Shinwon. “I really do feel like an amateur now.”

“Try doing it like you’re stubborn, not defiant,” said Hwitaek. “I want to have a few takes, so we can choose the best one.”

In that moment, Hongseok realised that he could never grow bored of listening to Shinwon sing. When he moved on to the ‘age 150’ lines, Hongseok could feel the joy in Shinwon’s voice every time as he talked about paradise; but he thought his best work was in the chorus, when he belted out Arirang with the experience of somebody who’d sung that song their entire life. Hwitaek certainly looked impressed by the end; and Hongseok distracted himself by wishing Changgu good luck as his friend went to enter the recording booth.

Shinwon joined Hongseok on the sofa. Hongseok complimented him, and Shinwon mumbled back his thanks, but then they fell silent. Hongseok sneaked a glance at Shinwon every now and then, but the younger man was always looking forward every time. Hongseok reckoned that Shinwon would be interested in listening to Changgu sing about defying death when he was 100 years old, but surely it wouldn’t hurt if he could just look at him for once? They were sharing a space, after all, and they were meant to be partners in this project.

“Do you fancy a coffee after this?” said Shinwon, in-between takes.

Hongseok did a double take as he looked at him. Shinwon was still facing forward, but he didn’t talk loud enough to catch Hwitaek’s attention.

“You want a coffee with me?” said Hongseok.

Shinwon nodded, and he turned his head. He was looking at Hongseok’s face, but seemed shy about meeting his eyes.

“Yeah,” said Shinwon. “You look like you’d really like one.”

“Sure. I’ll get one with you.”

Shinwon smiled until his eyes became crescents, and his cheekbones took over his face. Hongseok had only ever seen him smile like that in photos; and to see it in person was making his heart beat overwhelmingly fast. He could have continued looking at him all day, had he not been brought back to reality when he heard Changgu sing “Arirang”.

Hongseok took to the recording booth not long after. He kept his eyes glued on the lyrics on his phone as he sung; and if he ever looked out of the window, he made sure to focus only on Hwitaek. He paid attention to everything that Hwitaek told him, and he was surprised at how fast the recording seemed to pass, even though it felt like he had sung each line fifty times over.

By the time the session was finished, Hongseok had never been more eager for a coffee. He thought that Shinwon might ask Changgu and Hwitaek as well, but it turned out that he really did mean just the two of them; and that was how Hongseok ended up sat opposite Shinwon in a café, fifteen minutes later, as the two of them just drank their coffees and stared out of the window.

Hongseok’s cup was half-drunk when he eventually said, “So, what’s going to happen next? What’s the plan?”

Shinwon shifted in his seat slightly. “I’m just waiting on Hwitaek hyung,” he said. “He’s close to securing the venue for us to film the performance video in. I’m working on the outfits we’ll be wearing.”

“How long have you known Hwitaek for?” Hongseok hoped that he didn’t sound too curious, like he was trying to pry too far into Shinwon’s life.

“I’ve known him for years.” Shinwon began to count on his fingers. Hongseok tried not to get too fixated on how short they were. “We’ve been friends since I was … about … eleven or twelve. I’m pretty sure Hwitaek hyung had just gone on Korea Sings the week before—I think he might have won a prize, actually, I’ll need to dig the footage up again—but I was definitely awed by him when I first met him.”

Hongseok nodded. At the same time, it was like he was staring at Hwitaek all over again. The knot was back, and it was tighter than ever and swelling. His self-appointed rival had known Shinwon for fourteen years longer than him.

“I could tell you’re close.” Hongseok put his hands around the cup. “Hwitaek seems to really like you, Shinwon-ssi.”

Shinwon shook his head. “He’s just like that.” He picked a sugar stick out of the pot on the table, and Hongseok noticed how he fiddled with the ends. “I bet he’s going to start getting clingy with you and Changgu-ya the next time you see him.”

“If he’s this clingy as a friend, I wonder what he’s like to his other half.” Hongseok hoped that his tone sounded jokey enough. It seemed as if Shinwon wasn’t romantically interested in Hwitaek, and Hongseok had to be careful that he didn’t end up triggering new feelings inside Shinwon.

“I bet he’s like a koala climbing a tree.”

Hongseok snorted at the rather plausible image of Hwitaek trapping somebody to the floor underneath him by cuddling them. His smile faded when he pictured Hwitaek climbing Shinwon, and he clenched the cup so hard that Shinwon asked him if he was okay.

“I am,” said Hongseok, as he let go. He faked a yawn. “Recording’s so tiring. How did you have the energy to sing like that?”

“It’s drilled into you if you want to sing pansori.” Shinwon reached to pick up his cup. “I’ve been trained to be able to sing for hours on end.”

Hongseok raised his eyebrows. “Can you really?”

“I once performed for three hours with no break. It was just me and the drummer on stage. The crowd were very good.”

Hongseok made a mental note to look up that performance later.

“Why did you sign with our agency anyway?” said Hongseok, as Shinwon took another sip of his coffee. “It doesn’t seem like the first choice for someone trained in pansori.”

Shinwon hesitated for a moment before answering, “I wanted the opportunity to do something different. If I’d signed with Hwitaek hyung’s agency, I would’ve been stuck doing just traditional things.”

“Wow,” was all Hongseok could say to that. He was about to ask Shinwon if he was interested in acting when he saw him grin.

“Also, I’m a Grandmaster,” Shinwon added. Hongseok started; it had been a while since he’d heard the fandom name for Checkmate. “No, seriously, I am. I cried my eyes out when the group went on hiatus and Hyunggu left the agency.”

“Did you really?” Hongseok leaned in, and it was his turn to grin as he added, “Who’s your bias?”

“Hyunggu.” Shinwon wiped the corner of his eyes like he was pretending to cry. “He was the cutest.”

“Right, and does Changgu know about this?”

Shinwon chuckled. “He said he understands.”

“How long have you been a Grandmaster for?”

“Ever since their debut.” Shinwon dropped the stick onto the table. “I think I might cover a Checkmate song for my next video, after we’re done with A Centennial Life. I’m tempted to go with Shining Armour, from their k-Nights album.”

Hongseok tried to imagine Shining Armour reworked using traditional instruments; and somehow, he could just about hear Shinwon covering Changgu’s lower-sounding bridge, before his voice soared as he effortlessly matched Jinho’s high notes. He even wondered if Shinwon would keep Wooseok’s rap break, and he smiled a little at the thought of Shinwon rapping.

“You like it, don’t you?” said Shinwon.

Hongseok blushed a little, and then he changed the subject. By the time they left the café, he had never tried spending such a pleasant hour with Shinwon before; and when he went to visit Changgu’s flat in the evening, the first thing his friend said to him was—

“How did your date with Shinwon go?”

Hongseok rolled his eyes as he sat down on the sofa. “It wasn’t a date,” he said. “We had a coffee, and we talked.”

Changgu sat down next to him, and pouted. “Hmmm, sounds like a date to me.”

“That’s not my idea of a date, and you know it,” said Hongseok. Changgu just laughed, and Hongseok decided to ignore him. He reached into his bag, and pulled out his copy of the script. “I need to go over this—”

“I saw you looking at Hwitaek.”

Hongseok blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s like you were _really_ interested in him.”

“No.” Hongseok stared at Changgu. “Absolutely not.”

“That’s what I thought.” The smile on Changgu’s face widened. “You were checking out a rival.”

“I was not—” Hongseok sat up straight as he narrowed his eyes. “Have you been talking to Shinwon?”

Changgu’s face fell a little. “No,” was all he said.

“With all due respect, Changgu-ya, you never notice anything unless people are actually kissing in front of your face.”

Changgu didn’t answer straightaway, and Hongseok figured that he had hit upon the truth. He pressed on, and said, “What did Shinwon tell you?”

Changgu shook his head. “I shouldn’t say anything.”

Hongseok threw his hands into the air, and the script almost disappeared down the back of the sofa.

“Hyung, Shinwon’s not the type to make big, grand gestures,” Changgu continued. “He’s more likely to show he cares through small things.”

Hongseok huffed as he waved his script in front of Changgu’s face. “Can we stop talking about him—?”

“You _are_ jealous of Hwitaek, aren’t you?”

“—shooting starts tomorrow, and you said you’d help me practice,” Hongseok continued, now talking louder like he was attempting to drown out Changgu. He really did not need his friend to keep on telling the truth like that.

The conversation didn’t leave Hongseok’s mind at all for the rest of the evening, and it kept him awake as he rolled around in his bed. Changgu’s words were still fresh in his mind as he got into the back of the car at some ungodly hour in the early morning to be taken to the studio for the first day of his shoot; and five minutes into the drive, he received a text from Shinwon. The text simply read “fighting ㅎㅁㅎ”, but Hongseok stared at it like Shinwon had written him an essay.

After that, it was like Hongseok really began to notice. Every morning on his shoot, Shinwon always texted him to cheer him on. He noticed that when Shinwon sent him the rough cut of A Centennial Life, he had attached it alongside a long message that praised and reassured him. When Hongseok had a chance to practice dancing with Changgu, Shinwon popped into the studio to hand him his favourite canned coffee. On Saturday, when Hongseok had to return to the agency in the evening despite spending his entire day filming, he happened to pass by Shinwon singing in the studios on his way out; and even though he was tired, he felt compelled to enter the room. Although Shinwon welcomed him in with a shrug, Hongseok noticed him smile as he turned around to face the computer again, where his lyrics were. Hongseok fell asleep to the sound of Shinwon singing; and when he woke up, he found himself in the studio with Shinwon’s jacket draped over his body, on top of his own coat, and the soriggun facing him and asleep in a chair with his knees tucked up to his chest.

Shinwon soon sent Hongseok a map of the venue that Hwitaek had managed to hire, along with detailed instructions on how to find the place. He also sent pictures of the hanbok, and assigned the yellow jeogori to Changgu, purple to Hongseok, and blue to himself. If Hongseok made any suggestions, Shinwon always acknowledged him.

The schedule was looking like this: Hongseok’s drama was due to wrap up shooting on Thursday; rehearsals would take place on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday; and on Monday, they were filming the actual thing. As far as Hongseok was aware, the plan for the video was that the three of them would act out the lyrics by singing to an actor playing as death, and it would be interspersed with group shots of them singing in the middle of the stage while surrounded by traditional musicians, dancers, and—potentially—a saja.

When Hongseok arrived at the shoot on Thursday, he stepped out of the car—and immediately spotted the coffee cart parked in the middle of the car park. His mouth dropped open as he walked up to the cart. Their drama was only a two-parter, and he was pretty sure that none of those idol voting apps gave fans the option to send a cart their way. For a second, he wondered if the cart had turned up to the wrong place—but the banner hung across the top definitely featured the faces of the main cast and the drama title, and the pop-up banners that flanked the cart had messages of support written on both of them.

Most of the crew were gathered around the banner on the right. The leftmost one, however, caught Hongseok’s attention. It seemed to be for him only, as he could see own his face at the bottom and nobody else’s—and then he realised that Shinwon was standing by the banner and smiling at him. He was wearing a down jacket that somehow made him seem smaller than Hongseok; and in his hands were a takeaway cup and an iced coffee with a straw poking through the lid.

“I got you your favourite,” said Shinwon, as he handed the iced coffee over.

Hongseok took the cup, but his eyes were fixed on the cart.

“You ordered the cart?” he said, after a while.

“I did. I thought I’d cheer you on.”

Hongseok smiled. “You didn’t have to.”

“I’ve got to do something for my favourite actor.”

“Funny you should mention that,” said Hongseok, as he bought the straw to his lips. “I heard you weren’t the type to do big, grand gestures.” He took a sip. Maybe it was because all this had been engineered by Shinwon, but what he was drinking right now was the best coffee he’d ever tasted.

Shinwon chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, Hongseok-ssi, I’m not,” he said. “I just don’t know what came over me this time.”

Hongseok’s smile widened. Had this happened a few weeks earlier, Hongseok would have perceived Shinwon’s coolness as being unfriendly; but now, he could sense the genuine affection in Shinwon’s tone. He’d heard from someone once that coffee carts were expensive to hire, and the thought of Shinwon paying out of his own pocket touched him. Hongseok leaned forward slightly, and kissed Shinwon on his cheek.

Shinwon’s blushes immediately appeared. He lifted his cup up to his lips, and his eyes darted from side-to-side as his face continued to burn, and he shifted his weight on his feet.

“I don’t know what came over me either,” said Hongseok, grinning.

Shinwon spluttered and almost choked on his coffee.

“I take it you’re not hanging around all day?” Hongseok continued.

Shinwon shook his head. “I only came to check the coffee cart would be appreciated.”

“You mean you came to see me.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Shinwon waved his free hand. “I’m meeting Hwitaek hyung after this.”

Hongseok bit down on his straw. It seemed even more ridiculous that he was getting jealous of Hwitaek now that he was convinced that Shinwon fancied him. He had to, surely; what else was the reason behind sending the coffee cart, and then getting all flustered by a kiss? Hongseok pulled his phone out of his pocket, and he groaned when he saw the time.

“What’s wrong?” said Shinwon.

Hongseok tucked his phone away. “I’ve got to get on with work,” he said. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Do you really?” said Shinwon, with a slight pout, and a playful gleam in his eyes.

Hongseok laughed. “Yes, I do. If you want, we could go for a meal after rehearsals tomorrow?”

“Wait, is this with or without Changgu-ya?”

Hongseok stared. He was starting to wonder who was denser, Shinwon or Changgu.

“We _could_ ask Changgu,” he said, “but I think he’s sick of being our third wheel by now.”

“I know,” said Shinwon, in a tone that suggested the contrary, “I’m just making sure.”

Hongseok decided to take his word for it. Since he was still feeling giddy, he kissed Shinwon’s cheek again, but this time a little bit lower and closer to the corner of his mouth. Shinwon’s face was so red that it was adorable; and with some difficulty, Hongseok managed to walk away from him.

After that, Hongseok was kept occupied with preparations for the day’s shoot. He still smiled whenever he heard members of the crew talk about the coffee cart. When he sat down to get his makeup done, he checked his phone for the first time in a while, and realised that Shinwon had messaged him a few minutes after they’d said goodbye. Hongseok opened it, and all the message read was: _fighting \ㅎㅁㅎ/_

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: [ninetailkyungho](https://twitter.com/ninetailkyungho)


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